


Mending Broken Things

by Imherepeasant



Series: Draco Malfoy Recovery [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Additional Warnings Apply, Eating Disorders, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:34:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9575993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imherepeasant/pseuds/Imherepeasant
Summary: Draco is a little bit broken, in multiple ways. Harry notices.





	

Things are safe.  
Safe enough for Harry and the remainders of his class to resit their final year.  
Not everyone wants to.  
From Gryffindor, from those who lived, most leave. Seamus and Pavarti Patil go straight to the ministry. Every Hufflepuff but Hannah finds work, Luna, Padma and Cho are the only Ravenclaws willing to come back, and Draco is alone, without his minions for the first time in his life. A class of 40 reduced to 10, the house system fell apart with the 8th years, McGonagall’s sympathy meant no uniform, no curfew. Each one of the students had done more than could be expected of them-a place at Hogwarts was a roof over their heads. Lessons were a formality for everyone but Hermione, who pushed herself harder than ever. Probably to forget. They were set up in the Room of Requirement, thanks to a few melancholy charms to keep it open. Boys and girls were split behind concealing spells at nighttime, dutifully cast by McGonagall every evening-the room occasionally provided separate sections, but not consistently.  
There was none of the warmth this year, the atmosphere in the Gryffindor common room felt like a family, this new arrangement was constantly uncomfortable, especially as Draco was a constant part of it. Most people ignored him, to avoid the apologies and tears he was now prone to.

Draco had returned gaunt and paler than ever. His severely tailored suits had been abandoned in favour of loose fitting jumpers that covered his hands and hung from his narrow shoulders. He stopped wearing straight-cut wizarding trousers, and began to choose muggle-looking jeans. They were the skinny kind usually obscene on men, he had lost so much weight that they weren’t even tight. His aggressive dragon-hide shoes were replaced by soft canvas sneakers, or no shoes, just thick socks that he padded around in. He stopped combing his hair flat against his scalp- it was naturally curly, something nobody saw coming. He threw out his expensive, acidic cologne and started using lavender scented soap, and shuffling about in a cloud of sleepy floral mist.  
His sharp exterior had dropped away-had been torn from him. A small, soft, scared boy remained. 

Where the other boys had filled out and become strong, Draco had sunken, he was rail-thin and swamped by the clothes he wore, He shivered through the days. He hardly slept at night, and what he did manage was sweaty and nightmare-riddled. When everyone else had fallen asleep, he’d stand up and cast a silencing charm around his bed. If tonight he woke up screaming again, nobody would notice. Nobody had noticed yet, there were no unusual looks at breakfast. He was accustomed to being stared at as he didn't eat, he looked vastly different. He wasn’t a threat anymore. He sat up late and wandered corridors before the sun had come up, sipping tea and eating just enough pumpkin seeds and sliced pears to survive. Luna was polite to him, she ignored how uncomfortable and guilty he felt, and focused on bringing him interesting teas to try, and plodding echoing corridors next to him when he couldn’t stay in bed. No words, just a warm body. 

Luna’s apparent forgiveness didn’t change much though.  
Under his long sleeves his dark mark sat, like an ink blot, like a cancer on his translucent skin.  
He’d had muggle tattoos added around it-he couldn’t remove or change the thing, so he surrounded it with who he was now, in an effort to diminish the reminder of who he used to be.  
Bunches of Narcissus flowers tumbled down and around, from the top of his bicep down to his wrist. His mother, the only person who really loved him, the only person he had really loved, permanent. Underneath the new ink were his scars. He’d gone mad, briefly, after too much Firewhiskey and nobody to keep him sane. He had detested himself, he had loathed the tattoo. He had tried to remove it. Spells, at first. They just inflamed and irritated his white skin. He had tried to drain the ink out, long pale scars crisscrossed over and around the image, but the ink wouldn’t budge. He’d tried to cut the whole thing out, carve away the offending muscle and grow it back later, he was left with a hideous sunken blotch, deep pink and wide. The ink remained.

Harry couldn’t help but notice a deterioration. Draco had been controlled like a puppet and constantly threatened last year, it was no wonder he was suffering now. He was impossible to comfort, what could be said?  
“Thanks for changing your mind at the last minute.”  
“At least you didn’t let both twins die.”  
“Well, Dumbledore was on his last legs anyway.”  
No.  
So, sadly, Harry watched on, speechless, as Draco became paler and more skeletal. He ate less and less, and drank more and more tea, he was perpetually cold. at some points he wore woollen or fleece blankets around his shoulders. His knees shook, and sometimes it took him more than one try to stand up out of bed. He fainted often, and bruised deep blues and black where he hit the floor. His ribs became clearer, and his veins shone through, his skin seemed to be getting thinner, he looked older, and weaker each day. Madame Pomfrey tried to feed him chocolate and butter candies, pastry and thick stew, but he ate very little, and vomited a lot of it back up-so unused to real eating.

An April Sunday morning, Draco fell as a staircase moved and couldn’t get up.

“Shit!”  
It came out tiny, just louder than a whisper, though he meant to shout.  
He tried to stand, and squealed in agony as his hip shifted.  
He scooted out of the way of the staircase, then had to lie down and catch his breath.  
He found he was unable to sit up.  
He was exhausted, he couldn’t even shout again.

It was hours before anyone found him, whimpering miserably and blotchy with wretched, excruciated tears. Harry rounded a corner, and spotted him splayed out on the concrete floor.  
“Oh, Merlin, Malfoy! Are you okay? Did you faint?”  
“I fell.” Draco’s voice was crackling and hushed.  
“When?” Harry came to him and pulled him to sit upright. Draco screamed and writhed in pain. Harry laid him back gently, then took a look at Draco’s twisted hip.  
“Just after breakfast.”  
Harry looked Draco in the eye for a moment. He did some maths.  
“You’ve been here for three hours.”  
Draco nodded and burst into a fresh fit of tears.  
“I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t even shout. I’m too tired.”  
Harry shook his head in disbelief. Draco was going to die if something didn’t change, and soon. He pulled his wand out and pointed it at Malfoy’s clearly broken hip, protruding at an odd angle grotesquely.  
“Brackium Emendo”  
The leg slotted back into place, and Draco stood gingerly, leaning heavily on Harry for support. He swooned, looking grey and queasy.  
“Put me back down, I don’t feel good.”  
“That’s because you’re half dead you stupid git!” Harry raised his voice, and found it to be slightly tearful. He kept Draco standing, but held him up with two hands  
Draco looked down at him, with sunken, dull eyes.  
“You’re barely eating, I bet you’re barely sleeping.” Harry continued, “You’re so weak you can’t stand up. For God’s sake, Draco, nobody wants to see another one of us die!”  
“I’ve been having a rough patch.” Draco croaked  
“You’ve been having a rough patch for the last year and a half. You need to look after yourself better.”  
Draco hung his head and muttered something.  
“What?” Harry leaned closer.  
“I don’t think I deserve looking after right now.” It was less than a whisper, so quiet Harry might’ve imagined it.  
Harry let go of Draco’s shoulder and took him by the jaw, pulling gently for Malfoy to look at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You made some mistakes, Draco. Everyone did things they didn’t want to do, everyone is forgiving themselves and the people around them. We forgive you, I forgive you. It’s okay to put yourself back together now, you don't have to…punish yourself anymore.”  
Draco’s sad sunken eyes watered again. He still felt woozy, and staggered a little, despite Harry’s support.  
“Hey, hey!” Harry stooped to catch Draco as he swooned. “We’re going to the Hospital wing, and you’re going to stay there until you gain some weight.”  
Draco nodded, this had been a wake-up call. He was ill, he was weak, he couldn’t do anything anymore.  
“That’s okay, but I can’t walk there. I’m too tired.”  
Harry choked up. How had he let things get this bad? He should’ve put his damn pride aside for one fucking moment to help someone who needed a friend!  
He lifted Draco under his shoulders and knees, and gathered him close to his chest.  
“I’ll take you.”  
This was very undignified, but it wasn't half bad being this close to Potter. Safe and tired against a hard chest, in strong arms. Even if Draco wasn't gay he would've appreciated the situation.  
Draco let himself be carried. He hardly weighed anything, and his sharply protruding bones dug into Harry as they moved.  
“I’m sorry about this.” Draco looked around to find himself being stared at as he and Harry reached a busy corridor, he must look awful.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. I want to help you.”  
“Why?” Draco couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to help him after what he’d done, especially not Harry Potter, the poster boy for the other side of the war!  
“Because I care about you. I know we never got along, but I want you to be okay, really. I want us to move on.”  
Draco considered this.  
"Me too." Draco laid his head sideways against Harry's heartbeat. Harry noticed the intimacy of this, but didn't bring it up.

They had reached the hospital wing, and Madame Pomfrey was scuttling about collecting potions and sleeping pills while charming a bed to make itself ready for Draco. The covers drew themselves back, and Harry laid Malfoy gingerly down, being careful of how spindly he was, how easily he could be broken.  
“Potter-Harry, sorry.”  
“Hm?”  
Draco beckoned Harry in, and took his hand.  
“Thank you for helping me.” A small, sad smile, a weak squeeze from his cold fingers.  
“Of course, Draco. You have me if you need me.”  
Draco surged upwards with the last of his strength, and kissed Harry’s temple. Short and thoughtful, then over as he collapsed back into bed. Harry stood frozen for a minute, processing what had happened. Friendly? Romantic? Neither? Both?  
Fuck it.  
He leant forward to kiss Draco properly.  
It was quiet and breathless, only a moment before Draco really had to lie down, seriously this time.  
He grinned at Harry, his skin drawing tight over the bones of his face.  
“Potter. Get off.”  
Harry sprung back, he must have misread this situation. Badly.  
“I’m sorry, Draco. I’ll go-“  
"No, don't go, stay. I want you to stay with me. I wanted you to kiss me, it's just that I’m hungry.” Draco clarified, looking flushed and smiley for the first time in years. “Well, not hungry, but ready to eat. You have to get off if I’m to eat something.”  
“I’ll bring you anything, Draco. What do you want to eat?” Harry was flooded by relief, and was only too happy to fetch Draco whatever he wanted. He took one of Draco's hands in both of his.  
“I don’t know. Pomfrey probably has something awful and fattening stewing somewhere. Can I have some tea?”  
Harry nodded, still clinging on.  
“You should eat something too, not necessarily the weight-gain stuff, might be a bit intense to start with. Baby steps. Biscuit.”  
Draco nodded back. Compromise. As Harry finally released his hand and headed to the kitchen, Draco remembered something  
“Can you bring Luna, please?”  
Harry stopped and turned, smiling.  
“You get along with Luna?”  
“Yeah. I’d like to see her- I never see anyone.”  
Harry agreed, and opened the doors to the corridor. 

“Draco! I brought you jasmine and peach tea. It’s muggle, but the Nargles seem to like it and Neville says it helps him to sleep. Maybe you'd like to sleep.”  
Draco looked up from his lap. Luna was floating over to him in her dreamy way… tailed by Hermione, looking anxious and guilty.  
“Draco, I’m so sorry about this. I should have noticed the signs. You don’t have to feel bad about anything that has happened. I forgive you.”  
Ron thumped up next, next to Neville.  
“It’s fine, mate. No hard feelings.” He shook Draco’s frail hand, as did Neville. Draco felt immensely breakable. Neville had always been so vulnerable, yet here he was, a bloody massive man who was probably strong enough to kill Draco one-handed. Not that he ever would, Neville was forgiving.  
All the 8th years were forgiving.  
Dean, Cho, Padma and Hannah turned up after a few minutes, obviously they found out about what had happened to Draco later. Each one said that they had forgiven him.

Chairs were accio’d and crowded around the iron hospital bed as people began to chat. Luna perched at Draco’s feet, on top of his starched white hospital sheets, handing out delicate teacups and humming distractedly to herself. Harry was squished up next to Draco at the head of the bed, with Draco half in his lap. Hermione gave a knowing smile when she saw how close they were, but nobody else noticed, or thought it was odd. Everyone but Harry left at dinnertime for the Great Hall, with Luna promising to bring some food back to them. Harry stayed curved around Draco, on top of the sheets, with Draco frail underneath.

When others had left, he could process. It was a cohesiveness Draco hadn’t felt before. It had been nothing like this in the Slytherin common room, nobody gave a toss. Here, the people around him were genuinely concerned for his wellbeing! He had sold them out to the most evil wizard in living history, yet they had sat at his sickbed for hours. He reached sideways for Harry’s hand, and took it shakily. 

“Thank you, Harry. For giving me this.”  
Harry frowned, Draco was being silly.  
“I haven’t given you anything. What are you on about?”  
Draco chuckled. “Your friends-“  
“Our friends.” Harry corrected him quickly.  
“-and this chance, to get better, with help, from these people.” Draco continued “I get to start again, almost.”

Harry squeezed his hand and sighed at the prominent bones cutting through.  
“Draco, get better. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”  
“I promise.”  
“Especially not you, now that I have you.” Nothing was official, or decided, or future-proof. Despite this, Draco knew exactly what Harry meant, they had each other now, in a new sense.  
"I swear."

It began getting dark.  
Luna came back with tea and toast, and Draco began getting better.


End file.
